


The Good Kind Of Pain

by ReloadTheWorld



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Bad Days, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Gay Relationship, Comfort, Communication, Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Jobs, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich is Bad at Feelings, Misunderstandings, No Smut, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Sad, Sad Ian Gallagher, Sarcasm, Sassy, Self-Harm, Shameless, Swearing, To Comment, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReloadTheWorld/pseuds/ReloadTheWorld
Summary: "What the hell, Ian?! Don't I put you through enough pain for you to not be doing that dramatic sissy shit?"The look of pure anger Ian jabs towards him and the downturn of his mouth suggests that he had said the wrong thing. Before he could apologize, Ian shifts; leaning so his injured arm hits the light from the window, the left side of his face illuminated so one eye is darker than the other."No, Mickey. You're- you're the good kind of pain. You don't make me feel worthless, I feel better when I'm with you, like downing light shots of alcohol or some shit-""So why the fuck do you need anything else then?""Because sometimes what you feel like you need is bad for you, and you can't help but feel good having it- is that so difficult to understand?"
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Kudos: 65
Collections: Ian and Mickey, Shameless (US), gay





	The Good Kind Of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Wooh! First Fandic for Shameless! I'd like to say I did a good job, Mickey is really fun to write, I have an easier time with snarky, sarcastic characters. I hope you think I did good too!!!!!
> 
> 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙!

Mickey never in his entire life imagined that "settle down" and "working class" would ever be a part of his vocabulary, but here he was: eloping around the shopping center with a ring tattooed to his finger and a half assed resume hidden in his coat pocket. He wouldn't even be looking for a damn job if they could pay the bills without having to scrape the streets, and Ian had reinforced the "no robbing, no stealing and few fights" rule (Mickey personally thought that was a dumb rule, but who was he to go against his husband's wishes?) 

Instead of doing their usual pick pocketing and thieving, Ian went out one morning and came back an hour later with a shit eating smile and paperwork to start as a swimming instructor at some ripoff YMCA the following Thursday (yes, really, a swimming instructor) Mickey was ecstatic for him, of course, he was just smug that Ian could find a job so easily; who wouldn't want to hire Ian? With his bright smile, soft gaze and spontaneous charisma, any employer would barely bat an eye if the word 'criminal record' came up, because he was Ian. Mickey on the other hand… his less than perfect mug, bottomless list of felonies and misdemeanors, plus his snarky attitude, wasn't helping his cause. 

Despite the infinite list of setbacks on his roster, he tries anyway, because any amount of stupid questions, uncomfortable silences or demanding labor would be worth it if it could make Ian happy. Anything for Ian- but when Mickey came back to the apartment 10 past 7 after an uneventful day of searching, instead of hearing the "you still make me proud" and "you'll find one next time" that he usually receives from Ian, Mickey was greeted with peculiar silence. Thinking that his douche husband was just teasing him, he yells: "What, no support for the unemployed? Where do you think your taxes go, asshole?"

Not even a groan. Mickey's eyebrows furrow (concern be damned) as he hastily placed his coat on the rack and slung his shoes into the crate. "Ian? Gingerbread Head, you home?" Nothing. 

"I know you're here, your car's out front. Look, if you had a bad day teaching the little minions how to float, you don't have to take it out on me!" Crickets. 

"Ian?" 'Maybe he's asleep' he reasoned. "Or dead" He thought. "No, if he's dead I'll kill him." He started weaving through the small complex: the back room, the kitchen, the bathroom, before marching to their bedroom door on the right, knocking four times and then pushing it open. Mickey would have assumed it empty, if it weren't for the soft light from the bedside lamp illuminating half of his husband's face. Ian was on his side, staring into space, eyes hollow, mouth straight, and the same shirt he's been wearing for almost a week clinging surprisingly tight to his biceps (If he didn't look so distraught, it would have been hot) 

"Did I marry a human or a nonverbal brick?" Ian blinked, tilting his head towards the voice. "Oh, hey. Sorry, I guess I fell asleep with my eyes open." Mickey fought the urge to scoff. "Yeah? Did your ears fall asleep too, because I sure was calling you." 

"Sorry."

The bed creaks as Mickey sits beside him. "Why are you apologizing so much? Did you do something bad and you just don't want to tell me about it or something?" Ian tenses, before shrugging the question away. "That'd be stupid." Mickey leans over, kissing his forehead tenderly. "And I don't doubt that you have that stupid in you, babe."

"Fuck you, Milkovich."

" Is that a request, Gallagher?" 

"Not if you don't want it to be." Mickey smirks cheeky, dipping his head to peck his lips. "So yes then?"

"Oh, screw you!" Mickey cackles, lightly smacking his husband on the shoulder playfully. A hiss makes its way through Ian's teeth and his eyebrows pull together (once again) in concern. "Hey, you okay? Some little prick kick you while learning to doggie paddle?"

Ian sighs, voice strained. "No, just, no, no, it's fine."

"Then why won't you tell me?" 

"Why do you have to be so nosey? Shit Mickey, if I wanted you to know, 

I'd tell you, it's not your business."

"Well I don't know if you know this," Mickey growls, poking his chest. "but we're married, so legally, you are my business. If it weren't so serious, you wouldn't be trying to dodge the question, and you definitely wouldn't flinch at a small tap like that. Spill." 

"I told you, it's nothing."

"Then why are you hiding like it's something?!"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO FUCKING GRILL ME, okay?" Does he make him feel that bad? 

"Ian, babe I'm-"

"I was fired today."

Mickey's response dies in his throat. "What?"

"Fired. Terminated. Let loose, released. Fucked over, bye-byed-"

"Why? You were dedicated to that job for almost two months, how can they just flick you off?"

" I- "

"Were you replaced? Was it something someone else did? Were you framed? Disorderly conduct?"

"Mickey."

"Drown a kid? Were you eye fucking the life guard dudes? Did they punch you? Ohhhh I'm gonna kick some ass-"

"Mickey I fucked up, okay?! They said I'd be a bad influence to the children and I could no longer hold a position there because I'd be a distraction."

"D-distraction? Distraction!" 

"Don't be mad at them, Mick-"

"Oh I'm furious-"

"It's my fault."

"And how is it your fault, Gallagher?" 

Ian takes a shallow breath before kissing him, hard, covering the other's eyes with his free hand. He lifts the sweater from his body, leaning in again. Mickey pulls back, his eyes still closed. 

"Are you making out with me to divert the question, because as lovely as your attempt is, it's not working."

"No, I'm- just one last time, incase you don't want to be with me after this."

"What the hell are you talking about-"

"You'll see." And he pulls him back. As confused as Mickey is, he complies, fingers trailing through his hair, his mouth just short of demanding. At some point, his hands run down his neck and Ian straight freezes, all the air in his lungs leaving him in one solid woosh. Even though Mickey's eyes are still closed, at that second, he knew. "Ian, please tell me you didn't do what I think you did, because I'm a little-"

"I can't." He half sobs. "I can't lie to you, Mickey, I'm sorry."

His eyes snap open. He wishes he could take it back. 

If a baby meteor could graze against a surface and not completely destroy it, that's what his shoulder looked like. A massive, discolored welt of red and brown and purple, meshed together and strewn 5 or 6 inches below his collarbone. It was painful. It was graphic. Ian's pain hurt him. 

But instead of saying that, instead of being caring and sympathetic and honest, like a good husband, instead, he said: "The hell, Ian?! Don't I put you through enough pain for you to not be doing dramatic sissy shit?" Everything just had to be about himself, didn't it? Insensitive and about him, because that's who he is. 

Dumbassery: 5667 Mickey: 0 

The look of guilt Ian reflects and the downturn of his mouth suggests that he had said the wrong thing. Before Mickey could apologize, he shifts; leaning so his injured arm hits the light from the lamp, the left side of his face brightened so one eye is darker than the other. 

"No, Mickey." His chokes. "You're- you're the good kind of pain. You don't make me feel worthless, I feel better when I'm with you, even though you can be an asshole, it like downing shots of alcohol that won't immediately get me drunk or some shit-"

"So why the fuck did you need anything else then?"

"Because sometimes what you feel like you need is bad for you, but you can't help feeling good having it- is that so difficult to understand?"

Mickey thought about it. Cigarettes, weed, drugs, violence, false reassurance; everything he knew he shouldn't have but felt better having, is that what he means? Because in that terminology, no, it's not difficult to understand at all, in fact, it makes perfect sense. 

" I'm sorry Ian, I didn't- did I make you-"

"God no you fucking idiot you didn't make me do it. I just, I got really- I don't know- a few days ago and I, I took a skillet and- but it wasn't worth it and I feel awful Mickey. I lost my job because of a stupid split second mistake, and now my own husband doesn't trust me anymore-"

"Who said I don't trust you? I think you're an idiot, but you don't need me to tell you that; Ian Gallagher knows when he's been an idiot. And Ian Gallagher fucking fixes it. That's what you do. You might not be able to fix it this time, but you can prevent it from happening again. And you'll get another job that won't dicriminate against mental illness. That should be illegal- that IS illegal. The only time I won't trust you is when you stop trying to fix things. I love you, some shit like this isn't going to make me leave, understand?" 

Ian averted his gaze as he felt Mickey's thumbs brush away the tear tracks left on his cheeks. "God, I'm a fucking mess."

"And you needed to burn yourself to know that?" There was a playful tone in his voice and Ian scoffed, half pushing him. "Fuck off."

"Never." Mickey's phone starts to ring. He eyes it questionably.

"Who the hell?" He picks it up. Waits. Waits some more, says a few "Okays, and 'goods' and 'yes'es before he pops the phone back on the bed. 

" Weeeelll?"

"Well, guess who's getting a job next week?" He says it smugly, but there's a smile on his face and a spark in his eyes that wasn't there before. 

"Really? That's awesome, Mickey! Yes, finally!"

"Hey, don't you 'yes, finally' me, do you know how hard it was to-"

"Yes, yes the classic 'Finding a job is like finding a straight male opera singer speech', I know. I'm happy for you." He chuckles. "I guess we've swapped places since you're the breadwinner now."

"I'm not swapping anything with you if your arm still looks like that. Shouldn't we ice it? Is it going to scar, should we get a doctor-"

"Mickey, who cares if it scars?"

"Your former job, apparently."

"Oh, screw them. I was going to quit eventually anyway. The kids were brats and the pool always smelled like piss, I could barely take it any longer, they did me a favor, I'd be better off taking the other job I was offered last week. I'd get paid to read stories to children, how easy does that sound?" Mickey snorts. "More or less easy than teaching the same kids how to position themselves in water so they don't drown."

"I'd like to teach you how to position yourself." Ian winks and he almost chokes laughing.

"Say something like that one more time and I'll make your other shoulder look identical!"

"It wouldn't hurt though, you're good pain, remember?"

"A good pain in the ass, maybe."

"Why, are you suggesting something, Milkovich?"

"I'm suggesting that you fix your fucking flirting!"

"Well, you said it yourself, I am good at fixing things-"

Mickey laughs. "Alright, yeah yeah, get over here." Ian complies, crawling beside him instantly. 

"Love you."

"...I know."

"Don't you dare Star Wars me, Milkovich!" 

"HAHAHAHAHA! Fine, Love you too, Gingerbread."


End file.
